


Pressure Point

by staranon



Category: Funhaus (Video Blogging RPF), Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Abuse, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, FakeHaus, M/M, Multi, adam's just a bit lonely, but good thing there are seven other people who love him to bits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-01 01:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15131813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staranon/pseuds/staranon
Summary: They call him Kitty on the streets. He's a freelancer, good at his work, but a complete pushover and people pleaser. He just finds it easier than fighting back, because fighting back has gotten him nowhere. It's why they call him Kitty. Because someone started calling him that and Adam never said no.He gets hired on by Fakehaus and he's give a level of care and consideration he's never known. He's just hoping his baggage doesn't drag them all down.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: I've got no idea if this ever went through, because dorm internet is hell, but There really isn't enough shiphaus in this world, and I would absolutely love to see an ot8 (or 6 if you don't feel comfortable adding Joel and Spoole) sickfic/ injury story. Especially with a bit of hiding-the-problem-so-as-not-to-be-a-bother and an answering no-fuck-you-you-are-gonna-deal-with-us-motherhenning-and-being-overprotective-because-you're-important.
> 
> Anon wanted og shiphaus with the OT8 crew. i took what i had when i originally wrote this prompt and expanded on it just a bit because hey. there's not enough shiphaus in the world.

Getting involved with any gang in Los Santos is always a risky gamble. All sorts of people live here, and if you don’t have the money to get out, you won’t be leaving. The city’s simply too big, too many people, not enough work, leads to corruption, an imbalance of power.

Adam first tangled with a crew when he was fifteen. He’s one of the city’s foster kids, the one’s likely to be swept under the rug and forgotten because there's not enough resources to go around. Parents looking to adopt aren't looking for kids like Adam-struggling in school because he has untreated ADHD, mediocre to poor grades, and has been bounced around through enough foster homes to make it seem like he's a problem child.

He wasn't. Not really. It's just that no one ever stopped to ask him how he was doing, check in with him, reach out and make it feel like he wasn't drowning all the time.

The only person to ever reach out and pull him out had tattoos all over their hand. Between two fingers was a folded ten dollar bill. 

“Hey, kid, you wanna make a few bucks?”

To Adam, ten dollars was the world. The promise of finally having some cash of his own to just buy a quick snack at the nearest 711 was the world to him. Finding jobs was hard enough when no one wanted to hire a scrawny looking kid that might skim bills from the register when you weren't looking.

He nodded.

“Great. Take this package. You deliver it to this address, got it? And when you’re done, you come find me.”

He ran as fast as he could, dropped off the package and returned to the man. He got his ten dollars and a deal.

"If you're looking for something to do, you come back here tomorrow and I'll give you another job, okay. Twenty dollars next time. What do you say?"

Of course Adam said yes. His foster parents wouldn't care what he was up to, so long as he wasn't bothering them. He could use the cash to save up for something. A new bike that actually had a decent gear change. Save up for his license, a car if that was possible. Something to give him a sense of autonomy, something to get him out of this city.

So he became a drug smuggler for a dealer. He never looked too deeply into the packages he was delivering. He might've been naive, but he wasn't stupid. He knew that he could get into trouble for this. He knew he was peddling drugs of all sorts, but the money was good and it was there. He knew how to avoid the cops, how to potentially spot out the undercovers, and how to avoid stepping on someone else's territory. This was what he was good at, and it was nice feeling useful for once.

By the time he turned seventeen, he dropped out of high school and left his foster home. His case worker was probably looking for him, didn't want him to be another tragedy in the making, but he didn't care. He had a place with a crew, was able to live with them and start there. Seventeen years old and this was all he had in his life, but he felt like he was going places.

He found different work, stepped away from the drug peddling because someone saw potential in him because he was trustworthy. He didn't rat people out. He was eager. He was  _young._ He could be shaped into something yet.

He was a little older now, a little wiser into how this life worked. He was still growing into his body, still trying to get people to take him seriously, take him as a threat. But he was still a round faced, scrawny kid who looked like he hadn't had a decent meal in a few weeks. If you didn't have the force behind your hits, if it looked like you'd crumple after one solid blow, no one took you seriously. You were just a kid in the end.

_"Who do you think you are, kid? Get in the back. You don't belong here."_

He cleaned guns. He helped organize the warehouse. He watered down vodka which was sold to the nightclubs. He did what he was told without question because he didn't want to get on anyone's bad side. He's seen what happened to people who got too smart or messed up. They were beat in the back alley and left to crawl away and lick their wounds. There was no coming back from that. 

So he learned to keep his head down and work. But being passive in this life meant you were often taken advantage of.

There was a guy they called Dusty. He was just muscle while Adam was kept in the back doing the grunt work. But he was higher up in the chain than Adam was, and Adam was  _soft._  He was a target for people to make themselves feel big and important, and he was too much of a pleaser to tell him to fuck off.

When they first met, the boss of the crew introduced Adam to the muscle-of which Dusty was considered the head. "Kovic," the man said. "

"K-K-K-Kovic," Dusty said. "He looks like a kitten, this Kovic, don't you think?" He was speaking to the others gathered around him-Benji, Dalton, and Ripper. They were smiling a bit, huffing, measuring up Adam and seeing how he would react.

He didn't.

"Yeah, all scrawny and curious looking," Benji said. 

"Does this kitty have claws?" Dusty asked.

"You're catching him up to speed," the boss said. "Train him up and we'll figure out what to do with him once we see what he's capable of."

The boss left him with the muscle. They'd train him in arms and weapons, showing him how to shoot a gun at the very least. They'd push and prod him, see what he would do if they pushed him too far. He'd take what they gave him because he felt as if he couldn't do anything else.

The pushing and prodding turned into jeering and insults later. Adam became their verbal punching bag. Used to make them feel big because he never responded. He'd take it and wait until they left. It eventually formed a habit of how Adam would deal with confrontation.

He worked with Dusty and his guys more often than he'd like to. Sometimes they needed an extra pair of hands when they were moving something. This was then they started calling him 'Kitty.' The resemblance between him and a two pound baby animal was apparent enough to them. Many criminals went by other names like this. Something easy that rolled off the tongue, but Kitty-why did it have to be that?

When they called him 'Kitty' in public, it set a precedent. In the often macho, hyper masculine criminal world of Los Santos, a name like Kitty meant you couldn't take Adam seriously. He was soft, he wasn't a fighter, he wasn't a  _bad guy._

It was how Dusty and them would great him when they all gathered at the warehouse for the day.

“Hey, Kitty,” he said. He reached out and flicked Adam’s ear. Adam flinched away but said nothing. “Kitty gonna get his claws out? Gonna growl for us, Kitty?”

He was nineteen when he became Kitty. No more Kovic. No more Adam. Just Kitty. And he fucking hated it. 

“Kitty, shipment came in. Need you on guard duty.”

“Kitty, you’re driving tonight. Get your gloves out.”

“Kitty, what the fuck is wrong with you? Aren’t you listening?”

It got bad when his boss started calling him Kitty as well. He'd lost the fight without throwing a single punch.

This name sets off a precedent. It's an example of Adam's own fortitude in the face of harship. He’s much more likely to just lie down and take a licking than to fight back. Fighting back brings him attention, brings him scrutiny, all the things he knows he needs to avoid if he’s ever going to make it in this city. He’s whatever you need him to be. He can be a hitman, a driver, a smuggler, the stoic muscle, and he’ll barely say a word, too. He’ll do what you ask him. He’s good enough without being noticed.

No one care's who he is, so long as he works. This is how crews work then. This is his place. This is his role. Nothing’s ever going to change that.

* * *

 Crews rise and die all the time in the city. If you're not on your toes, ready to run at a moment's noticed, then you're not going to survive. 

The crew he's working for is likely to be dissolved soon or be taken up by someone larger. It means there's a bit of instability in the work place. Dusty's frustrated because a change in management means someone else will be in charge of him and he has a problem with authority. So he takes his aggression out on Adam.

"Tell me something, Kitty," he says, slinging an arm over Adam's shoulders. Adam bristled, but he doesn't move away. "What's your new job going to be like once we're bought out? You gonna sleep your way to the top? Use that sweet mouth of yours?" When he lets his fingers trail down Adam's smooth jaw does Adam finally jerk away and shakes him off.

"Don't you have work to do?" he says.

"That all you got for me, Kitty?" He scoffs. "You need to grow a spine."

When the merge finally happens, Adam takes the decision to leave the crew. He doesn't feel welcomed here and maybe he never will be. 

By the time he's in his early twenties, he markets himself as a freelancer. It's hard work, but he has a wide skill set. Sometimes he'll have enough work for three months, and then he's off the job for four, wondering how he's going to make rent on his own. Never once does he think of leaving town. That ship has sailed, and Los Santos has sunk its claws into him. 

He grows out his beard, starts working out, gains definition in his shoulders, his arms. He looks less soft, but the name Kitty follows him around. It’s what everyone knows him as.

 _Kitty._ The freelancer. There's nothing he can do to stop them from referring to him as such. Before he even meets them, they say 'Kitty.' And he doesn't want to set a bad precedent that keeps him from working. 

Freelancer work is dangerous. It's lonely. But it makes him feel like he has some control over what he's doing. He's  _choosing_ to work alone. He's  _choosing_ to be the lone wolf because he's tried the crew part. He's tried to be a team player, but all it did was leave him burnt out and hollow. He can't live like that forever, so he goes at it alone.

_"Yeah, I've heard of Kitty. He's good at what he does, but he's quiet. I don't trust the quiet ones."_

_"Kitty's the type that don't fit in anywhere. He's good on his own, but as soon as you pair him up with someone-all goes south from there."_

_"He's got skills, I'll give him that. But he's not going to make it in this city on his own. He'd better just leave now. Find work elsewhere. If no one's got Kitty's back, then he ain't gonna make it."_

* * *

 He gains a reputation as a skilled and efficient freelancer. He can be your hitman, your muscle, your smuggler, even your driver. He'll do what he's told, take his money, and hardly make a sound. His name is Kitty. He's as silent and as steady on his feet as one, and the name makes sense in that way, but he hates it. He's still soft with it. He feels like he's being underpaid because of it. Because people don't take him seriously so they just push on him and he'll roll over because he doesn't know if he can fight back. It's a cycle that he can't get himself out of. 

When he's in between jobs, he often finds himself at a bar to pass away the evening hours. Surrounded by throngs of people, he can feel for just a moment that he has  _someone_ in his life. Make it feel like he's a part of something larger than himself. It's on one of these nights that he bumps into a man with a big name. 

In this city, there's only one crew that matters and that's the Fakes. The Fake syndicate. Crime lords in their own right, they've held onto this city for a long time. If you get involved with them, you're either lucky or dead. Their stunts, their crimes are glitz and glam. He hasn't worked with them yet, and he doesn't know if he should. That might drag him down the wrong rabbit whole, but it seems that the universe wants to bring them together. 

He bumps into Bruce, the Haus leader, just as he comes out of the bar prepared to head back home. He's one over his limit, so he's not as clear headed as he'd like to be.

“You the guy they call Kitty?”

The name stirs up something primal in him. Especially coming from a bigshot like Bruce. He suddenly snaps, and then he's swinging his fist before he's thinking things through. It collides with Bruce’s cheek. A first meeting that will go down in history and surely entertain their kids. He's either lucky or a god is watching over him because no one's here backing up Bruce. He came alone. And he's not fighitng back.

“ _Don’t fucking call me that,_ ” he says.

“Ow—Jesus!” Bruce rubs his cheek. “I don’t know your fucking name! What else am I supposed to call you!”

Bruce is holding himself defensively, but there's no aggression in him. It's like he understands his blunder, but there was nothing he could do in the first place, so he's fully accepting of Adam's rage. 

 That's a first.

"So what do I call you then?" Bruce asks. "I'm pretty sure you already know who I am."

It's the first time anyone has ever asked for his name. Now, of course that's a dangerous thing in this game. The name Kitty has prevented people from figuring out where he lives. But someone's reaching out and pull his head above water for once. It's been a while since anyone has.

"Kovic," he says. Because he's not going to be on a first name basis with this guy. That's hitting too close to home, and he needs some distance to keep him safe.

They exchange names. They exchange contact information. Then they go on a walk like they're just two guys heading home from the bar. 

“I need an extra set of hands,” Bruce says. “You interested?”

"That's a bit vague," Adam says. "What does that mean exactly?"

"It means I bit off more than I can chew and I hear you're a pretty decent jack-of-all-trades type."

The praise makes Adam feel a bit-weird? In a nice way? He can't put his finger on the feeling itself. No one's ever spoken of his skill-set like this before.

"What's the job then?" he asks.

And Bruce gives him this smirk that speaks of too much fun and not enough caution.

"Come by the warehouse and we'll give you all the fun details."

They part ways. Adam goes home to his apartment, sinks down onto the futon that doubles as his bed. The bedroom technically holds all of his equipment. He can't exactly afford a storage locker right now, and he'd like to be able to keep an eye on his equipment. 

He brings up the contact that Bruce left in his phone. And he just looks at it for a moment, wonders if getting tangled with a Fake crew is good for his career. Then he remembers that rent is due in a week and he's getting low on funds, so he sends out the message.

_i'm in. time and place?_

The response is near instant.

_198 county road 9!! 7 pm tomorrow_

County Road 9 takes him outside the city. He can definitely get there without being noticed then.

Then a second text.

_dinner requests?_


	2. Chapter 2

Adam admits that he doesn't know much about Haus. They're not as big as  _the_ Fakes. The main six who rule this city like they're damn royalty. Haus has a different portion of the city under their thumb and their own brand. He knows that there are seven of them. He doesn't know of their names. Some of them have online handles, but he's not that into keeping up with the Fakes. Just keeps his head down and works. He's made it this far, so why change strategies? 

He parks his car outside of the warehouse on County Road 9. The sun's just starting to set now as he gets out and crosses up over to the front door. He doesn't know wether to knock or not, but he sees the camera up above the door. So he looks up at it and waits until the door opens.

He's greeted by what looks to be a teenager wearing a bright red baseball cap.

"What do you want?" the kid asks.

 Adam's taken aback and has a sudden moment of doubt.  _What if Bruce isn't here? What if he didn't tell his crew he's coming in?_

But before he can say anything, he hears a familiar voice.

_"Jesus Christ, Spoole. Learn some fucking manners."_

The kid, Spoole, merely shrugs and steps away from the door so Bruce can take his place.

"Kovic, hi. Right on time. Never mind Spoole. He's in a mood."

"Yeah, about that. How old is that guy?"

At first Bruce shrugs. "Old enough. I think. Who knows at this point? Come on in. I'll introduce you to the crew, and we'll figure out some sort of working agreement."

The warehouse feels and looks surprisingly homie. Adam wonders if some of the crew lives here. It certainly looks like it. There seems to be some sort of haphazard way the warehouse is laid out. There's the kitchenette and lounge space. There's the tech equipment. There's the racks of storage space, and then there's the tables for cleaning equipment. Adam spots out the other members of Haus, all in various stages of work. Bruce leads him to a somewhat cluttered table, but it works as a desk where they can sit and chat. At this, the rest of the crew shambles their way over to meet them.

"Before we get to questions," Bruce says. "Let me just point and say the names."

_James, Elyse, Lawrence, Matt, Joel, and Spoole. Or Sean._

"This that freelancer you hired?" James says. He's all muscle. Reminds Adam of Dusty and his guys. Puts him on edge a little bit.

"You  _know_ we needed extra hands. Kovic here is capable," Bruce says.

It seems like the crew is still warming up to the idea of involving an outsider. James, he thinks, he needs to worry about. 

"Is that really your name though?" Elyse asks, and the tone she carries throws Adam for a bit of a loop. It's friendly. She's reaching out to him. "Like 'Kovic.' It sounds nice and  _cool._ "

"That's because it's a velar sound with the 'k," Joel says. "Followed by a labiodental." And he looks so smug about it, but the rest of the crew looks just as confused as he is.

"You're a labiodental," Elyse meets.

"Labiodental sounds dirty," Spoole says.

"What would a labia-dental be then?" Lawrence asks, and that happens to make some of them laugh and snicker.

" _Guys,_ " Bruce says. "As stimulating as this is, I need to catch him up to speed."

"Fine," Joel says with a dramatic roll of the eyes. "Be all business and boring."

" _Technically, this is_ your  _job. I'm just doing you a favour."_

The others drift off with James being the last to leave, giving Adam a cold, hard look. 

Bruce sits down, and Adam follows his lead. "So that's the crew," he says. "They're nonsense half the time, but you won't have to worry about any of them. They all pull their weight."

Adam nods, but James is still a threat in the back of his mind. How long until he's calling Adam Kitty instead of Kovic? How long until everyone follows his lead?

"So what kind of work do you need me for? And for how long?"

"Ideally?" Bruce says, sitting back in his chair. "Six months. Minimum."

_Six months._

Adam usually has a rule of thumb that he steers clear of long term contracts. Being here longer than necessary makes him feel like he's under a microscope. And that's something he's  _desperately_ trying to avoid. Six months would be pushing it for him. He doesn't know if he can do that especially if Bruce is expecting him to be near the team on a daily basis.

"That okay with you?" Bruce asks.

"Depends on what the work is."

"Well, first it'll be surveillance. Scouting out a specific location, learning routines, job rotations, who the regulars are, stuff like that. Then there will be deals on the side, make sure we have enough equipment. Then onto schematics. Putting the plan into action. Dry runs. Lot of spitballing. And if the prep goes well, I want you on the actual stunt itself."

Wow. Okay. Usually people just hire him to do quick jobs. No one's ever trusted him to integrate with their crews in this way before. He's the loner who gets shit done and then leaves. This-this brings him into the fold.

But six months means money.  _Good_ money. 

"How much we talking then?" Adam asks. He wants to know before he's going to lock his relationship in with these guys for six months.

Bruce gives him a figure.

Yeah. 

 _That's good money._  

* * *

For the first month, Adam keeps himself at a distance. He does his work. He sends it off to Bruce or whoever, gets the thumbs up, a 'good job, Kovic!', and he goes home. Simple as that. Keeps himself distant but available. Wants to stay in their good graces.

Once the surveillance and equipment is done, they move onto schematics. This is a lot more careful planning involving blueprints, research, and a lot of coffee. It also means Adam is needed at the warehouse a lot. This brings him closer to the crew, to teh people and personas that work here. And it's during this month that he realizes there's something here that makes Fakehaus special.

Because he's trying to make a good impression, he shows up quite early to the warehouse now that he has entry codes. Sometimes he's the first one there. Making the coffee, setting up the papers and schematics to the way people like them. It's the simple things he does to lessen the friction here. 

It's definitely not because he wants James to look at him with anything other than disdain, with doubt and uncertainty. It's definitely not because Adam has a habit of trying to reach out to people while still acting aloof. Because's he's tired of being alone and he needs someone to watch his back in this cruel world.

Definitely not because of that.

But the coffee seems to work with most of them. Except Matt-who everyone happens to call Peake-who doesn't drink coffee at all. Bruce and Matt are usually the first ones in. First to arrive, last to leave. Bruce treats Adam like an equal. He appreciates Adam's insight and knowledge. He involves him when the team is gathered around the table in the late hours of the night and Adam's still holding himself off to the side. He's not one of them. He's not a Fake on the inside. Just a temp. But Bruce doesn't treat him like one.

Neither does Matt. Matt, in his own way, makes Adam feel useful. They can work quietly together, never say a word, and even then that alleviates Adam own insecurities. It's the small things that Matt provides. A glass of water. Over the counter pain relievers should Adam get a headache. Matt looks after him in a way that none of the others do. 

It's in the morning that he picks up on the intimate tendencies between the group. He's not sure if it's because they're tight knit from working in a crew or if there's something underneath the surface that branches out between all of them. But he's seeing things he thinks he shouldn't be. Like when he's trying to figure out the ridiculous organization system in the storage boxes and he happens to peer through a gap in the boxes and he sees Lawrence standing behind James's chair. With a hand on his shoulder, he leans in close to James, whispering closely. It looks tender, and just as Adam turns away, he can't help but listen in on their conversation.

 _"-what are you thinking now?"_ Lawrence says.

 _"Thinking that . . . Bruce wants Kovic full time,_ " James says.  _"I'm still warming up to the idea."_

 _"How so?"_ Lawrence drags his hand across James's shoulders. 

_"It's been a while since we had someone new join up."_

_"And?"_

_"I don't think you understand what his shoulders do to me."_

Lawrence shoves James off as James laughs.  _"And here I was thinking you were acting all pissy because Bruce wants to hire him full time."_

_"Oh, come on. I am violently attracted to him and those big brown doe eyes of his."_

_"Doe eyes?"_

_"Joel's rubbing off on me."_

_"As long as you're not swirling your wine before you drink it, I think you'll be fine."_

Adam pulls himself away from the conversation as quietly as he can. He gets the blueprints that Spoole needs and sets them down on the table. Spoole nods his thanks as Adam makes a move to grab his jacket.

"Where you going?" Spoole asks. 

"Emergency popped up," he says. "I'll be in tomorrow if Bruce asks."

Spoole frowns. "Okay." He probably doesn't believe Adam, but Adam doesn't care. He needs to get out because he feels panicked and he needs to get some place safe to think this through.

He's at his apartment. Stretched on the floor with his arms thrown over his head. It's dark in here. Dark and cool. He never opens the curtains, doesn't want even a piece of the world peering in at him. Here he can just lie down and  _think._ So maybe he misread James's looks of disdain. That was longing. That was deep seated attraction that he didn't know what to do with, and now Adam's left with a crisis on his hands.

A Fakehuas member is attracted to him. Fakehaus is more than just a married couple and five other presumably single bachelors. No. It's turning out to be a seven way relationship that adds all sorts of complications to the mix, and Adam doesn't know if he should stick it out and accept Bruce's invitation to join full time or just . . . leave after these six months. Go back to the freelancing, go back to his self-imposed isolation unitl someone gets the one up on him and takes him out just as he's stepping out of a bar for the night. 

Is that the life he wants?

Or does he want what Haus is offering him? This kidness. This friendship. He feels  _good_ here, so the question is, does he want them in the way they want him?

His phone rings. He brings it up automatically.

"Talk to me."

_"Kovic! How you doing? Spoole said you left early."_

It's Bruce. The concern in his tone is real.

"Yeah. Just a minor emergency. Nothing to it. Sorry if you needed me."

_"Nah. It's fine. Just wanted to check in and see how you were doing."_

"I'm fine," Adam says. "You need something?"

_"Ugh? Not really. Just wanted to call in and make sure you got home okay."_

Adam finds himself smiling. "'preciate it."

The call ends there. 

It seems Adam's already made his decision.

* * *

 

Sometimes they're here late at night. That usually means someone needs to go on a food run. Elyse volunteers as does Spoole and they start taking down orders. When they get to Adam, Elyse asks, "What would you like, Kovic?" She has a pencil and paper out.

Adam shrugs. "Whatever. I don't care." He doesn't. He appreciates that they're going out to get food for him, but he's not picky.

But then Elyse gives him a look like, “Come on, Kovic. What do you like?”

“We will  _literally_ go anywhere in town,” Spoole says.

“ _Just so you can get out of the schematics?_ ”

 _“_ Fuck  _off_ , James.”

“But seriously,” Elyse says. “What do you want?”

No one’s ever looked at him the way Elyse is. Like he’s a friend, like he’s  _more_ than just a friend. Like he’s someone they can trust.

He shakes his head. “Uh, I really don’t care, Elyse. Thanks.”

She rolls her eyes, fondly and pats him on the shoulder. “Whatever you say, Kovic.” She tousles his hair before her and Spoole leave the warehouse to go on their much needed food run.

The food's delivered and they all take a much needed break in the lounge area. There's not enough room for him to join them on the plush couches and chairs, but he knows if he sits alone, they'll kick up a fuss, so he drags over a folding chair and sits with them. Instead of getting the individual orders, it seems Elyse and Spoole just went to a Chinese restaurant and got everything off the menu. 

"I feel cheated about this," Joel says, holding his chopsticks primly. 

"Joel, I was  _not_ going to look for a place that makes braised lambchops."

"Could've tried at least."

"You know what I was not going to do? Wait for a goddamn hour for your goddamn lambchops."

He likes how they bicker. How they tease each other for their habit. For Joel's tendency to want the finer things in life. For Lawrence's like of Anime. For Spoole and his weird sense of innocence. They all have something, and Adam appreciates how he gets to share it. 

Fakehaus doesn’t operate like any crew he’s ever met, so of course they’re going to try and place him, try and break through his silence to get at  _Adam._ Not Kitty. Not Kovic. Just Adam. Who he is on his down time in his one bedroom apartment with its shitty heating and a broken elevator. But he's not Adam to them. He's still Kovic. Still that freelancer that decked Bruce in the mouth.

Working with them makes him want nothing. He actually enjoys them, their company, their humor, themselves as people and not simply as criminal masterminds. He thinks this set up might just work.

* * *

“Hey, Kovic, need you to drive Joel down to the meet up,” Bruce says.

“For the last time, Bruce,” Joel says from across the warehouse. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“And I’m telling you I’m not risking you getting shot again,” he fires back.

Joel rolls his eyes. “It was a graze!”

“Yeah, I can do it,” Adam says, cutting through the banter—because that’s what this  _is_. “Just tell me where to go.”

“Perfect,” Bruce says who then turns back to Joel. “ _See_?”

Adam grabs his jacket, checks his gun, and follows Joel out to the car. Adam's driving. Joel's content to sit in the passengers seat and fiddle with the radio even if he makes a face at anything that comes on. Instead he just turns it off. Adam sees him turn his head towards him. 

"Kovic," Joel says. "Kovic, Kovic, Kovic. That's your last name, right?"

Adam nods. "Yep."

"What's your first name?"

Adam finds himself smirking. "I don't kiss and tell."

 _"Oh._ Flirty boy. I like it. Does that mean all I have to do is kiss you on the cheek and I get my answer?" He puckers his lips, smooches the air. Adam feels like he's blushing. He probably is.

"No, no, uh, that won't be necessary." A beat passes. "It's . . . it's Adam. My name's Adam." Why does it feel like he just confessed his deepest secrets? Why does it make him feel this good?

Joel smiles at him. "Adam," he repeats. "Suits you."

They go ahead with the meeting and get back in the early afternoon. Joel's the first ot get out and Adam follows him at an easy pace. As soon as they enter, Joel announces loudly, "Pay up, bitches! His name is Adam!"

There are groans throughout the warehouse.

"How did you get to know his name first?" James asks as he comes up to hand Joel his money. 

"I was charming. Obviously." He looks over his shoulder, winks at Adam, and Adam isn't even that angry about this. They enjoy him. They're having fun with him. They want to get to know him. 

So Adam lets it happen.


	3. Chapter 3

Fakehaus is tightknit, but that’s not all. It's a messy, complicated, seven-way relationship, but one that Adam's starting to take notice of more and more. On the rare occasions that Adam does join them for a night out-and not just dinner in the warehouse-he catches them kissing each other. Either Joel settling himself on Lawrence’s lap a few drinks in, or James whispering something into Spoole’s ear, causing him to blush and turn into James’s chest. Or maybe it’ll be Elyse kissing Bruce on the cheek next week and James and Matt driving off in the same car at the end of the day. It’s clear that they love each other, and Adam doesn’t mind. Not at all. He thinks it’s nice. It explains why they care about each other so much, and he likes the dynamic of it. Wants to take a step forward and approach one of them. Just reach out and hold them and be held in return. Is that too much to ask? But he can't make himself take that step. He still feels like he's drowning under all this uncertainty and the only way he's going to get out is if someone takes notice. 

James is helping him stack equipment in preparation for the big heist when it happens. They're just chatting. Talking as normal to each other. 

"How do you like it here?" James asks. 

"It's nice. Not like I have to deal with bullshit coming from you guys. Well. Other than the usual stuff."

James smirks. "How long you been a freelancer?"

"Too long." Far too long if this is what he gets when working with a crew. 

"What would think about coming to work with us full time?"

That's the other thing. He hears about how Bruce is going to talk to him about eliminating his contract and hiring him full time. But he has yet to come up to him. It just strikes him a bit odd yet.

"I don't think I would mind," Adam says. 

"Really? You wouldn't  _mind_?"

"No, no. It's not just-you know what I mean."

And then he realizes that James is teasing him. "Oh, fuck off." He shoves at him while James laughs.

"You know we wouldn't mind having you here. They all like you."

Adam looks up at him. He didn't notice that James moved closer to him. "And you? What do you think of me?"

"Why don't I show you?"

And then he's pressing forward, capturing Adam's lips with his, and Adam's being pushed back against the wall and James is pinning him there. Adam's not small. Not by a long shot. But the way James crowding him in makes him feel like it. 

They kiss and it feels right. It feels like this is where Adam belongs.

"Come home with me," James says-says it like a statement rather than a question and Adam would never refuse him.

They stumble outside, take Adam's car back to James's place. Elyse is out, he says. They have the whole place to themselves.

They go the bedroom. The lights are off but the curtains are open, street lights shining in as Adam runs his hands up along James's torso, pulls his shirt off. It's been a while since Adam has found himself in a position like this. When he's lonely, when he can't be by himself, he goes across town to find someone nameless. Someone who doesn't know  _Kitty._  But this . . . this is raw. This is all passion and bite. This is James at his most overwhelming and Adam wants everything he's going to give him. 

He's on his hands and knees. His shirt is gone, tossed on the floor. James is working down his pants, pulling them over his hips with his briefs, and as soon as they're gone, James's hands are on him. All over him. Tracing down his back, making him arch his back, press his shoulders to the bed as James works his way down his spine, to his hips, to his thighs. 

"I'm going to take real good care of you, baby."

And he does. His touch is electrifying. It makes Adam shiver, makes him press back for more. James shushes him, runs his hands all over him. Takes his time when Adam was really looking for just a quick round in the sheets. 

Then James pushes him onto his back, and, oh, this is different. He can see James like this. It makes it all the more real when he's spreading his legs, letting James to lie between them. He looks up to the ceiling as James leans in to kiss his neck, his collarbone, a hand running up his ribs. Then James is turning his face back to him. 

"Say my name," Adam whispers. It comes upon him suddenly, the need to hear James say his name. So that doesn't make this another nameless night for him. 

"Adam," James says softly. "Adam, Adam, Adam."

The night builds. James works him to an overstimulating and overwhelming edge and sends him tumbling over. 

James is so tender. This isn't a well-known fact, but as soon as it's done and the sweat is cooling on Adam's chest, he comes with a damp cloth to wipe them both down so they can lie together. It's more tender than Adam's received, than he thinks he deserves. There's no talking, but they're holding each other loosely, and Adam feels like he's floating. Feels like he could be here all night. 

They sleep. He doesn't know for how long, but when he wakes up, he falls back into habit.

He gets off the bed and starts putting on his clothes. This is his routine. Staying the night is a level of familiarity and intimacy he doesn't think he should be giving or receiving. He needs to get going. But just as he pulls his jeans on, James stirs.

"Where you goin'?"

Adam approaches the bed, runs his hand down James's shoulder to settle him. "I have to get going. I'll see you tomorrow."

James grunts, rolls onto his back, and goes still again. Adam leaves. He gets into his car and he leaves. Goes back home to his apartment and curls up on the futon.

Pleasure really only lasts for a moment.

He doesn't sleep the rest of the night.

* * *

There's no lingering awkwardness between James and Adam after that. There are no questions about where Adam had to go that night. James treats him the same, but fully takes advantage of their new relationship. The others take notice as well. Adam is fair game, and he welcomes it as much as he can. But in the lead up to the heist, nothing else happens. They're all focused on the large pay day, and Bruce wants to see this through.

After the success of their heist, they fall back to the beach for a little celebration. They find a secluded spot, light a fire, pull out the drinks, and just waste the night away. It's good. It's so good. Adam's contract is almost up. The heist was a success. He's never felt more accepted in his entire life, and whatever happens from here, he's glad he got to experience this.

Then Bruce stands up and reaches into his pocket to pull out a piece of paper.

"Speech!" Spoole shouts. 

"Booo," Lawrence says. "Sit down."

"Oh, shush," Bruce says. "I have an announcement to make." He holds up the paper. "This is Adam's contract."

Adam sits up a bit.

"Now, technically, it's not up for another week. But I've been thinking on it, and I've talked about it. And I want to open up a spot on the team for Adam to join us." He turns to Adam, offers his hand, and Adam accepts it. He's pulled up and Bruce hands him his contract. 

"Burn it," Elyse whispers. "You know you want to."

"How 'bout it?" Bruce asks. "There's a spot for you at the table."

"We're sitting on a beach," Spoole says. "There's no table.

" _Spoole."_

Adam holds the contract and brings the corner of it to the fire and lights it up. The crew cheers for him, and Adam lets it burn in his hand for a while before letting it drop.

It feels like a victory.

* * *

He’s Fakehaus now. He's Kovic on the job, Adam when they're not. The name Kitty doesn't come up, and he thinks this is a new chapter in his life. He thinks he's finally made it to a better place and that no one's going to come in and ruin what he has. And no one does, but he has his own hang-ups. He likes Haus. He likes them for their own eccentricities. He likes how Elyse will pull him to a thrift store just to have a look and then convince him to buy a t-shirt with a cat on it. They tease him gently about the whole 'Kitty' thing, but they never go too far for him. They make him feel like he’s worth something even if he won’t let himself get  _too_ close to them.

When he goes out with Joel, Joel always makes it a whole event. He likes fine dining, and Adam is finally bothered enough to invest in a nice jacket and trousers. Adam feels special when he's with Joel. Like he's worth someone's time and effort, but even that's enough to get him to stay the night.

He’s picking up his clothes off of the floor of Joel’s bedroom when Joel says, “Come back to bed, Adam,” without even opening his eyes.

Adam continues pulling on his shirt. “I, uh, I have to go,” he says, offering no further explanation.

He does it with all of them. It’s not like there’s one special person whom he’ll stay the night with. That’s a level of intimacy he’s not willing to do. It’s … it’s complicated. He’s used to being the background presence. He’s used to people telling him to do things, expecting him to just keep his mouth shut and work. Which he still does. He takes orders without question, and while he doesn’t think any of his crewmates would ask him to put his life on the line, he still has some hang ups, things he doesn’t think he can do or should do.

He can do the sex part. He  _loves_ the sex. When he's with Lawrence, he learns about things that he's never heard of before. When Lawrence is laying out a vibrator on the bed, looking at Adam like he wants to eat him, Adam doesn't feel that concerned. Because he knows Lawrence is obsessive. Does everything with perfection.

"Ever experience prostate milking?"

With Lawrence, it's not a marathon. It's a sprint that he tries to turn into a marathon and Adam's the one paying for it. He loves every minute of it. He loves how Lawrence cares for him afterwards. How he showers him in affection, how good he was for Lawrence, and it's all this praise that makes Adam forget for a while that something is still holding him back from them. Something in the back of his mind that turned into habits of wanting to be the best person he could be for someone, how he'd roll over and let people do to him what they wanted. That's not what this is, but intimacy is hard for him. Sleeping in someone's bed and staying for the night is hard for him after so many years alone.

He jolts awake. He's still in bed with Lawrence. It's mid-afternoon on their day off and Lawrence is on his laptop. Adam is suddenly gripped by this sudden urge to leave and he needs to get out. He's pulling up his pants and fumbling with his belt before Lawrence addresses him.

"Hey, Adam." His voice is so tender. Adam doesn't hear him, keeps moving out the bedroom. "Adam, wait just a minute." He sounds genuinely concerned now, but Adam's so panicked that his only thought is getting out and, well, he'll go from there. Shoes on, no socks. Pulls his shirt on, doesn't know where his jacket is. He's out the door and heading down onto the street. He's on the sidewalk before Lawrence catches up with him. Lawrence grabs his wrist. Pedestrians walk around them, pay them no mind. 

"Adam," Lawrence says, and Adam looks at him, feels his heart beating all too rapidly against his chest. He doesn't know why he's panicked. Lawrence has explained to him what sub drop is, and maybe this is part of it. But he's still pulling away, so Lawrence gets him to sit down on a bus bench and let him calm a bit. The afternoon traffic certainly creates a nice buzz he can focus on. Lawrence settles a hand on his shoulder, lets his hand drift against the back of Adam's neck and just holds him. 

"Want to tell me what's going on in that head of yours?" Lawrence asks softly. He never takes his eyes off Adam. 

Adam doesn't even know how to answer that question. So he just says, "I need to go home."

"Okay," Lawrence says. "Okay." 

Lawrence drives them back, but takes a leisurely route so Adam can calm down, can come back to himself after this panic. When they get to Adam's apartment building-a large, red and brown brick place with one of the front door glass pieces covered in tape because it was smashed a few days ago and had yet to be fixed-Lawrence turns off the car, and they sit there. He reaches for Adam's hand. 

"Are you okay, Adam?" he asks. "Do you want me to come up with you?"

Adam shakes his head. "I'll be fine."

Lawrence looks down and asks, "Was it okay? Was it too much?" Lawrence is rarely ever showing vulnerability for this. But he's genuinely concerned about Adam, and Adam wants to soothe his fears.

"No, no, Lawrence, you were fine. I . . . I really enjoyed it. I just-I got other stuff on my mind. Just got freaked out, you know?"

Lawrence nods, looks back to him. "Want to talk about it?"

Adam shakes his head, smiles at him. "I'm fine, Lawrence."

Lawrence doesn't look like he believes him. "You sure you're going to be okay? I don't . . . I don't want to leave you alone like this. I want to make sure you're okay."

"Lawrence," Adam says, turning his body in his seat towards Lawrence. "I'm fine." He reaches out to cup Lawrence's jaw and kiss him. "I'm fine. I'll call you tonight. After I've-worked out whatever this is."

"You better," Lawrence says. "Because otherwise I'll come in and kick down every single door until I find your apartment."

Adam smiles at him. "You do that, Clark Kent."

He's good at getting people to think he's okay. For just long enough for him to get away and go back to some place safe. He's good at this. He never brings them to his apartment, doesn’t want any of them to know where he lives, how he lives. He needs a form of distance because if he doesn’t have that, then he feels like he has nothing.

* * *

He doesn’t know if he’s doing it more for their pleasure than for his. If he's just going to bed with them because he knows he can make them feel good. Which makes for an awkward night when he’s rolling out of bed when it’s all been done and said. Is it the coward’s way out?” Maybe. He’s not exactly sure. All he knows is that is that he doesn’t think he should be staying here over night. That’s … that’s too far.

He’s rolling out of James and Elyse’s bed after taking an impromptu nap. He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here. Just as he shifts, he feels Elyse’s hand on his shoulder.

“You know you can stay, right?” she whispers.

“Yeah,” he says. He knows he can. They wouldn’t mind, but he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. So he doesn’t. “I need to go.”

“Okay,” she says, letting him go without a fight.

He knows they’re probably concerned about this behaviour, each of them are. He sees how they look at him whenever they’re off the clock. They probably talk to each other as well. The ‘what do we do about Adam’ question.

It’s three in the morning as he sets out onto the streets, and this is a dangerous time of night to be out here. But he just wants to get home. Before he can round the corner, he's stopped by a familiar voice.

“Oh, isn’t it our favourite stray?”

“ _Here, Kitty, Kitty.”_

He turns. It's Dusty and his boys. It's been a while since he's heard of them, even seen them really, but a familiar feeling of shame sinks into his stomach and he feels like he's that scared kid again

“What do you want?” he asks.

They’re actively blocking his path, and he can’t step around them. So he does what he’s supposed to do. He stands there and takes it until they grow bored with him.

“Oh, Kitty has his claws out,” Dusty says. “Gonna scratch us, Kitty?” He thumps Adam against the chest.

“What do you want?” he repeats.

“Word on the street is you’re working with Fakehaus. Have been for a while now. And since you’re on the in with a Fake group, I bet you have access to all sorts of information. So here’s what you’re going to do for us. You’re going to pass along that information to us.”

“What makes you think I’d do that?”

“Because, Kitty.” He steps closer to Adam, sets a hand on the side of his face, and Adam stands there and takes it. “What makes you think you’re Fake material? You’re just a pushover, Kitty. They’re not going to keep you around. And mixing work with pleasure? Are you kidding me?” A phone with a photo of him at Spoole’s place,  _in bed together,_ nothing distasteful, but that means they’re probably keeping tabs on his crew. “That’s just sloppy now, Kitty. Now. You get me what I want, and I’ll keep quiet about this. See how long it takes them to figure out who the rat is. Send you packing, eh, Kitty?”

He feels a spark of anger flare up in his chest. It’s the photo that pushes him over the edge. The idea that someone looked in on something private for blackmail. It’s a stupid decision. It’s one on four, but he tries at least. Tries to fight back, not take something lying down for once.

It doesn’t go as planned.  _Go figure._

He ends up on the ground with what he suspects is a broken arm and a severely bruised torso.

“Poor, dumb Kitty,” Dusty laughs. He pats Adam down until he finds his phone, presses Adam's thumb against the home button to unlock it to input his contact information. “Love the new fight in you, Kitty. Keep it up. We’ll be in touch.” He tosses the phone carelessly onto Adam's chest and then they leave. 

It's a struggle to pull himself up. His ribs are probably more than bruised. His arm aches, and he knows he has two choices. He can either go to Matt, their medic, or he can go to a cash clinic and get this patched up without any questions. 

He drags himself to the clinic at an ungodly hour and gets his arm plastered. There's nothing they can do for his ribs other than to suggest a regiment of stretching and rest. When he gets home, the texts start coming.

_i want names kitty. don't you forget_

_you miss one deadline and i leak the photos to whatever bounty hunters are after you_

_and it's all going to be on you kitty_

_be a good boy and get me what i want and maybe i'll let you live in blissful ignorance for a while_

_here's some incentive to get going._

Then the pictures start flooding in. It appears Dusty has been camping him out for weeks. There's photos of all sorts. All the tender ones of him stepping out of Bruce's house, of Joel's car, kissing Elyse while James is just a foot off. 

_full crew details in three days._

_clock's ticking kitty_


	4. Chapter 4

Matt invites him over for breakfast the next morning. Adam's hardly slept, has a headache building, and would like nothing more than to try and sleep everything off, but he can't say no to Matt. And he doesn't think he should be alone. Matt opens the door when he knocks. And then he's frowning and the concern takes over.

"What happened to you?" He goes to touch Adam's arm like the healer he is, sees how stiffly Adam moves once he pulls him inside, the scraped skin on his cheek and neck. "Did you get jumped?"

"Um-" He could tell the truth. He could. But he doesn't know how well Dusty has him being monitored. He can't let them get hurt. So he says, "Yeah. Something like that." And hopefully he can figure out this mess before it's too late.

Matt still checks him over, asks to see his bruised ribs, checks out the plaster work on his arm. "You could've stopped by," he says.

"It was four in the morning," Adam says.

"Still. It's my job. I'm always going to have time for you."

Matt's care is so tender despite how rough and scarred his hands are. He pays careful attention to each scrape, each bruise. Wipes them down with antiseptic because he can't be too sure, wants to take care of Adam in his own way. And the senitment hurts because Adam knows that this issue with Dusty will not turn out pretty. 

His phone sits and burns in his pocket with every damning text he receives.

The three days is coming up. Dusty's counting down the hours.

_3 hours to go kitty_

_boy you sure do like to play it close to home_

_try not to get your tail stepped on_

He sends the information. It's just names for now. Full names

_Bruce Greene. James and Elyse Willems. Lawrence Sonntag. Joel Rubin. Sean Poole. Matt Peake._

Full names with nothing to hide behind. This is them plain and simple. He shouldn't be doing this, but he doesn't know what else to do.

_much obliged kitty_

_we'll be in touch_

_< 3_

He throws his phone across the room and puts his head in his hands. 

* * *

The following week, Lawrence's house gets broken into. The perp doesn't get anything, but Lawrence is shaken up.  _"_ The lease was under a fake name," he says. "I don't know how they could've found me." He moves in with Bruce until they can clear this mess up. Adam never feels more guilty. The crew is on edge. They're aware of a threat and are looking for leaks everywhere. Everywhere but at the people they work with. Their bond is too strong to look into, and Adam can't help but feel guilty. 

The next request comes in.

_let's test your mettle kitty_

_rumor has it fakehaus has a gun depot_

_i want the location_

_or you know_

An image of Adam and Matt sitting side by side upon Mount Chiliad. It's one of Matt's favourite spots. And someone followed them up there

_you two look super cozy_

_would be a shame if something were to happen to little matty here_

_you got 24 hours kitty_

_get to it_

He doesn't know of all of their locations yet, all of the buildings and properties they own, stole, or rent. It hasn't come up yet and Adam hasn't needed this information at any point. But now he needs to look. He stays behind at the warehouse late at night, looks through the files and finds the depot location. It's not a major property. Adam knows Bruce has been moving locations recently with their arms and weapons. It shouldn't be too bad.

_42 Woodstock_

_aren't you a good little pet_

_makes me wonder kitty_

_do you love these people at all?_

_because it sounds like you don't_

_not when you're giving away all their secrets_

Sean picks up on the signal when someone breaks into the depot. The place is cleared out by the time they get there, and Adam has never seen Bruce so mad. He drives his fist into the door as they leave and Adam can't help but flinch. He feels that fist should've been directed at him.

The crew is on edge. Bruce orders them to pack up the main warehouse and move out. They can't stay here, not when someone is onto them. Lawrence? The gun depot? Can't be a coincidence. They're scrambling and setting up elsewhere. Adam helps where he can, but when it comes to the heavy lifting, they tell him to sit out.

"Not with your arm," Matt says when he goes to lift a box. 

"Well then what am I supposed to do?" he asks.

"Why don't you go help Spoole with the cables? And try not to trip, okay?"

"Whatever you say, Peake."

The texts don't stop once they move and start working again. Dusty is pressing for more and sending new creative photos to help incentivize Adam to send him what he wants. He finds himself increasingly stuck the more personal the requests become. When it comes at the cost of  _Elyse_ though. When she's jumped in the middle of the day, that sends everyone over the edge.

"There's a leak somewhere," Bruce says, and he's pacing. 

"How?" Joel asks. "We've debugged  _everything._ We moved fucking warehouses. What else could we do?"

Bruce sighs. "I'm going to hate myself for asking. But we need to check phones."

There's a few pushbacks. 

"Bruce, this isn't necessary," Joel says. "What would we have to hide from each other?"

"I'm not saying one of you guys is ratting us out. But that's the last we need to check just incase someone cloned your phone or some other  _Mission Impossible_ bullshit."

Adam's blood turns to ice. They toss their phones into a box for Lawrence to debut later, but Adam knows this is the end for him. When Bruce come up to him to hand in his phone, he knows Bruce reads the panic on him instantly.

"Adam," he says, and it would've been better- _easier-_ if he had just said Kovic.

The silence is deafening, and he knows it speaks of his guilt. He dips his head, tries to unlock his phone with shaking hands, so he can pull up the texts, the photos, the threats that have been piling up. Bruce frowns. "What's this about? What's going on, Adam?"

He feels everyone looking at him. Feels their heated, pointed stares. 

He wants to explain himself. He wants to get the words out there and tell them that he's always loved that. That he never meant to hurt them like this, but in the face of having them exposed, having their deepest, most private moments shown to the world, he simply couldn't do that. They don't deserve that. This is all because of him and what he's dragging around behind him. 

Then James stands up to look at Adam's phone. And the others are all on edge as well.

"Adam, what did you do?" Bruce asks with an edge to his words that Adam hasn't heard before. 

Adam shakes his head, tries to put some words together to defend himself. "I-"

He's cut off swiftly.

"Get out."

It's said flatly. Like Bruce is trying to reign himself in. Adam briefly looks to the others. The only one looking at him is Matt.

 _"Get out,_ " Bruce says again, and Adam's jolted out of his seat.

He leaves.

* * *

This is why he doesn’t follow his heart. This is why he tries to keep himself detached because things get messy when people think he’s acting on his own. When he’s not that mindless drone of a worker. He got too close to Fakehaus, flew too high and got burnt. They're not for him. They never were. He shouldn't have tried to make things better for himself. He should've stuck to the contract, left after the six months like he was supposed to.

He's in his apartment packing a go bag. He plans on leaving the city. As far as he can go. He's prepped for this day, so it doesn't take that long to get everything together. Once you mess with a Fake, it won't take long for the rest of the syndicate to come down on you.

There's a knock at the door. Adam wonders if he should even answer it. He goes to grab his gun first before looking through the peephole to see who it is. It's Matt. He opens the door.

"It's just me," Matt says. 

"How'd you find me?" he asks.

"Followed you."

He should've expected this. He rests against the door. “You don’t want to be here."

“Why not?” Matt asks. He asks questions so simply. Like this whole situation just didn't blow up in front of everyone. Like the others have alreayd written Adam off as a lost cause and a snitch. Matt digs into his pocket and pulls out Adam's phone. He holds it out for him. "Can I come inside?"

Not seeing much of a choice, Adam takes the phone and nods. He steps to the side and allows Matt into his apartment. He shuts the door and moves to the table in the kitchenette to sit down. 

Matt's looking around his apartment. This is the first time anyone has been here. They all kept their distance before, but now that's no longer possible. Matt takes in his fill quietly, looking at the tangled sheets on the futon, the scraps of Adam's life here. It feels desolate here now.

Matt moves back into the kitchen. He starts rumaging around in Adam's barely stocked cupboards. He pulls down a box of chamomile tea-something Adam uses to help him sleep when he doesn't want to use medication-and sets a kettle to boil. It's an agonizingly long time before he settles down with mugs for the both of them. He doesn't know if Matt did this to calm him, but Adam's still on edge.

Adam's phone lies between them face up. A new round of texts starts coming in. Adam sighs, unlocks the phone, and shows Matt.

_heard your girlfriend got roughed up the other day_

_hope they haven't sniffed you out kitty_

_you've been making me and my boys a small fortune with this information_

_let's take it to the next level_

_next time your brucie boy goes to meet with the heads of this little syndicate_

_i want you to go with him wearing a wire_

_and send me the recordings_

_i know you're close to him. work your sweet mouth and get to one of those meetings_

"How long has this been going on?" Matt asks.

"Three, four weeks," he says. He stares into the mouth of the mug, watching the steam waft off the surface of the tea.

"Why do they call you Kitty?"

Adam was expecting Matt to ask him a different question. Something along the lines of 'why did you do this.' Not this. Not something personal like this that tries to get at the root issue.

He scratches at his cast. "Because I'm soft. We . . . we used to work together when I first started getting into this job seriously, and, um, they didn't see much in me." He's surprised by how calmly he's able to get this all out. It hardly feels like it affects him. It feels like he's numb. 

"Do you think you're soft?"

"Why are you here, Matt?" he asks. "If Bruce doesn't want me around, then just say it. Don't drag this out." He doesn't want Matt to be nice to him only to break him down with what he has to say.

But Matt is nothing but patient and kind. "You know what I see? I see someone who's tried very hard to get where he is. And maybe that required a lot of sacrifices. And that chipped away at what made you soft until you built this hard reputation around you. And it's with us that you've finally let that softness out a bit. There's no shame in that. But then someone came along and took advantage of that and you did what you could to keep the people that you love safe." He stretches out his hand to lay it on Adam's wrist. "No one blames you. Yes, they're hurt, but no one thought for a moment that you would do this to us on your own."

Adam can't help but think of how Bruce told him to 'get out,' the hard set to his face, the biting tone. How could they not hate him? But then why would Matt be telling him this? Matt doesn't lie. He tells you the truth, he says what's on his mind, and he doesn't hurt people like this. He'd hurt you with his truth. And that's not what he's doing here.

"Come home with me," Matt says, and Adam's never been able to deny him anything.

"Okay."

* * *

Matt's place has always been a refuge to Adam. It's on the edge of town. It's in a quiet suburb. There's a garden out back. It always makes Adam wonder how Matt got into this game exactly. He lives such a calm life here. 

He's left alone for a day at Matt's place. Matt feeds him, lets Adam wander around the place on his own, doesn't speak to him if he doesn't want it, and gives Adam the affection he seeks when he slumps down next to Matt on the couch. 

"The others want to see you," he says. "I said I'd ask you and see how you're feeling."

Adam nods. He can't avoid them forever, and if he believes Matt, then this shouldn't go poorly.

They pile into the house in a pack the next day. They come in with fresh food to cook up for dinner. They spread out into the house, and Adam stands at the edge of the room. Not sitting, not moving, just standing and trying to think about how he'll survive this situation. 

“Adam, for the love of god, sit down,” Lawrence says. “Honestly, it’s not like we’re your parents who found your Playboy magazines under your bed. Take it easy.”

He sits but only because Lawrence tells him to. He keeps quiet. Lets them all move around him and do as they please. He has no say in this. Not really. He doesn’t miss the way Joel and Bruce look at him, how they talk more quietly together than the others. Probably talking about  _him._

The talking—see: lecturing—is held off until after they eat. Adam manages a few bites of the food before his stomach clearly says otherwise, and he has to set his plate down.

“So,” Bruce says. “I think it’s time we discuss the most pressing issue here. Adam—”

“Here we go,” Adam mutters. “Yeah, so I was approached by an old crew a few weeks ago, and they want me to spy on you guys. Leak information to them. And I get it if you want me to leave after this.”

“Adam,  _Adam, Adam,_ ” Joel says. “That’s not why we’re here. We’re here to help you.”

Adam can’t help but scoff.

“What?” James says. “You don’t believe us?”

“It’s not … it’s not that,” Adam says. “Just—no one does that, you know?”

“Does what?” Spoole asks, and they all look so concerned and he wants to shake them by the shoulders until they realize what he is.

“Adam,” Elyse says. “You know we care about you, right?”

“Yeah, we don’t care if you’re not a cuddler,” Lawrence says. “We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“If it’s a sex thing, it’s not like you  _have_ to have sex with us,” Spoole says. “You know if you, like, identify as asexual or something.”

Adam doesn't get it. He thought this conversation would be about how he started leaking information on them. He thoughts this is where they'd ask him to divulge in his past and work out where to go from here. But they're more concerned about why he doesn't stay the night after they have sex. 

Adam shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s not  _you._  It’s all just me.”

“Then what is it?” Matt asks.

He tries to start from the beginning. He starts with the frustration, the not being able to put to words what he’s feeling and why he’s feeling this way. The thing is  _he knows they care about him._ And he cares about them too, but he’s so fucked up about what constitutes a relationship, how much effort you need to be into a relationship, what you can take from a relationship that he doesn’t know where to start. He thinks he says as much but he’s not quite certain.

"And it's not like anyone would give me the time of day," he adds. "Whether to just check in on me, or, or keep those guys off of me."

"Did they hurt you?" Elyse asks, and Adam's heart feelings like it's breaking. She's the one who was attacked mid-day, and never once did Dusty and his guys every rough up Adam. Only skewer him with their words. 

"No, I wasn't hurt by them. I just . . ." He shrugs. "I don't know. I just couldn't tough it out."

"You didn't have to," Matt says quietly. "It's not on you that you were bullied by these guys."

"But i wasn't-"

"Adam," Bruce says. "They called you the wrong name and then kept using it against you because they realized how uncomfortable it made you feel. You were bullied plain and simple."

It's hard for him to grasp when he's had these types of thoughts for a long time. It's the 'can't teach an old dog new tricks' type thing that has him going. "But it's like . . . more often than not I would just stand there and take it, you know?” He shakes his head. “It’s . . . whatever. No one really cares anyway.”

“Oh, well that’s bullshit,” Lawrence says. “Adam, whoever made you think that is a fucking idiot. Of course we care. And whatever problem you found yourself in, we’re not going to leave you alone. That’s not what we do.”

“We’re not going to let you deal with this on your own, okay?” Bruce says.

That seems to effectively end the conversation. They’ll deal with the nitty gritty details later when Adam isn’t as exhausted.

They move about in the room. Still chatting. Cleaning up the remains of the meal. Adam finds himself moving to Elyse. She's still sporting a bruised cheek and a fat lip. He hates to think of what lies under her shirt. He knows she's a capable fighter. He's been to the gym with her. He  _knows_ first hand. But it still makes the guilt in his stomach twist around uncomfortably. 

He sits on the floor in front of her, finds a position where he can lay his head on her knee and look up at her. Her fingers move to his hair immediately. When she smiles at him, there's no anger or disappointment. Just love and acceptance. 

"You doing okay?" she asks.

He shrugs a shoulder. "Better than before."

She hums, tilts her head to look at him. "How's the arm?"

"Still broken."

"You get your cast off in two weeks. I doubt it's all that broken right now."

He lifts his arm to look at it. It's fraying a bit on the edges, and it's been a bitch to take care of what with showering and still wanting to have sex but being narrowed down to a few positiosn that aren't exactly his favourite.

"It looks boring," she says. "Hey, Matt! Do you have any markers?"

They make it an easy afternoon for him. He sits between Elyse and Joel. He has his head on Joel's shoulder while Elyse is drawing patterns into his cast. He doesn't look down, keeps his eyes on the television. Spoole found something for them to watch, and now Adam can finally feel himself relaxing. 

They don't hate him. They love him. And they're going to help him. He doesn't know how (Lawrence will probably tear Dusty a new one), but he doesn't have to look at his phone. He can get a new one, change his number, and feel safe in the knowledge that he has people at his back to take care of him.

"Hey, give me those markers," Joel says.

"No," Elyse whines. "Get your own, college boy."

Yeah. He's going to be okay.

* * *

When it's late, a few of them begin to leave until it's only Adam, Matt, and Bruce. The others know that Adam is in good hands and that he's going to be okay.

Matt's bed could easily fit all three of them, but it's a bit too hot for that, so Matt says he'll sleep in the guest bedroom.

Bruce is still sitting up while Adam's stretched out beside him. He's curled close to Bruce's leg, forehead against his hip as Bruce runs his hand down Adam's shoulder, his neck, his arm, his back.

“Did someone draw on your cast?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah. Elyse got a hold of some markers. Then joel got involved and the Spoole did as well. Elyse drew the dick I think.”

“Yeah, figures.” Bruce’s hand finds his way into Adam’s hair. It feels nice, this.

“You good, Adam?” Matt asks.

Adam nods. “Just wanna say I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Bruce says.

“For punching you in the face.”

Bruce laughs. “It’s fine.”

* * *

The next time someone brings up the name 'Kitty' is because Spoole brings a kitten into the warehouse. 

"I think it looks like Adam," Lawrence says. 

"I suggest we call Catam," James says.

"James, that is a  _horrible_ name," Joel says.

It's this type of banter-of Adam's time as  _Kitty-_ that he's been so starved for. Not ridiculing him for how he looks, but having fun about a name to change a bad experience into a good once. Passing the name off to a little ball of fur stumbling its way around the room on a coffee table.

And he's glad that Bruce was the one to reach out to him and finally pull him free from the water.

**Author's Note:**

> [](https://staranon95.tumblr.com/)


End file.
